


Juliet

by ratherbefree



Series: come with me, my love [1]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: F/M, Some Fluff, Some angst, tbh idk what this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:38:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4925311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherbefree/pseuds/ratherbefree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She had grown enough since Man Is Evil and Tranny Dance and Inspecti-con to understand that expecting romanticism over reality was always going to end badly."</p><p>Annie is halfway across the country.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Juliet

**Author's Note:**

> Title of fic and chapter titles are from the song "Romeo and Juliet" by Dire Straits/The Killers.

It’s only when she’s actually _on the plane_ , like _physically thousands of feet in the air_ , travelling at God-knows-what speed to a state halfway across the country, that it fully hits her, everything that happened with Jeff - it was possibly the last time any of that will ever happen. The secret kisses, stolen glances, quiet resentment, they’re all just. Over.

(And of course there’s everyone else, too. Britta and even Frankie, and the quick hug and goodbye to Abed before she had to rush to board - they’re all still fresh on her mind, too. She isn’t some lovestruck Juliet, thinking only of her ~~lover/boyfriend/guy she sometimes makes out with?~~  

Thinking of Jeff.)

But there was some resigned finality to their last kiss, alone in the study room. She’d asked him to do it, mostly for himself, though not exactly out of pity. She had grown enough since Man Is Evil and Tranny Dance and Inspecti-con to understand that expecting romanticism over reality was always going to end badly, and so…

Well, she thought she could handle it. Better than he could, at least. And it’s true what she said - she’s in her twenties, she has her whole life ahead her, and their wants aren’t compatible.

But.

After everything that’s happened, she doesn’t think her feelings for him can ever be strictly platonic. And there is still a small part of her, the smitten 19-year-old who waited 3 months for a call she never received, who found it unreasonably hard to pull away and plaster on a smile and choke out a goodbye.

(Okay, maybe a slightly bigger part of her. Maybe it wasn’t only her suppressed 19-year-old-self who struggled to let go. Maybe.)

And, maybe she’ll text him when she lands. Just to let him know she’s there safe.


	2. The Dice Was Loaded From The Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington, day (?) 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> been trying out some different writing styles with this fic, so I'm sorry if it seems weird at bits.

It’s _cold_ in Washington.

Her heavier coat is stuffed at the bottom of her suitcase, so for the most part she just stands at the collecting point, shivering, while she waits for her case to roll round.

It’s pretty early in the morning - the sun was just beginning to rise when she got off the plane - and more than anything she just wants to sleep.

(Except now it’ll be in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar apartment with a - slightly - unfamiliar person living in the room next door.

She’s gotten used to falling asleep to the sounds of Inspector Spacetime through her bedroom wall.)

She finally spots her case and lugs it off the movie belt, apologising to the several affronted business-men around her, and speed-walks away, into the direction of her new (“temporary, temporary, TEMPORARY!”) life.

* * *

She checks the room number twice on her cell before mustering up the courage to knock.

The door swings open in less than a minute - thank God they’re punctual - and reveals a taller girl with messy brown hair and crumpled day-time clothes and a wary smile.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“Nah, it’s fine.” She has a distinct Pennsylvania accent.

Annie adjusts her backpack strap on her shoulder, and wonders whether it’s socially acceptable to just walk into your new home or to wait to be invited.

“Oh!” The girl realises her dilemma, _finally_ , and steps away from the doorway. “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” She gives her a grateful smile.

The apartment is surprisingly nice, considering the cost of the rent. The doorway leads into a hallway, with cream walls and an out-of-place watercolour of a flower hanging on the wall. The living area/kitchen is next, and it’s… Clean. Not exactly homely, (and, wow, she never thought she’d miss the tacky wood panelling on the walls of Abed’s old place, but-) however, it’s nice. Minimalist. A couch, TV, some shelves. A fridge, an oven, stove, microwave, freezer. Basic.

“That’s my room, there-“ The girl - Victoria, she remembers from the well-worded Craigslist ad - gestures to a door across on the right side of the main area. “-And there’s yours, I guess.” She points to the twin door, on the other side.

“Um, do you mind if I-?”

“No, sure, go ahead.”

She pulls her suitcase over to her new room, and carefully turns the doorknob, pushing it open. It’s a little stiff. The room is like the rest of the place - white-walled, with a crisp-looking double bed in the centre of the room, a couple bookshelves on either side of the door, and a rickety bedside table.

“Do you need anything?” Victoria pokes her head around the doorway.

“No. Thanks, though.”

“Cool. I’m going for a nap, I’ll be up in a couple of hours.”

_Coolcoolcool._

“That’s fine.” She shoots her a pleasant smile, watches her leave, and waits and respectable amount of time before shutting the door.

* * *

Even though it’s basically torture, she leaves everything unpacked until the next morning.

(Before going to bed, she spends an inordinate amount of time thinking about home.

Thinking about AbedandBrittaandFrankieandChangandElroy. Even TroyandShirleyandPierce. The ones that got away, although she guesses she and Abed are in that club now, too.

Thinking about _acertainsomeonewhoisdefinitelynotJeff_.)

* * *

_(2) unsent drafts_

 

_composed 5:23_

_TO: Jeff_

_missing everyone already_

 

 

_composed 5:39_

_TO: Jeff_

_i hope you’re handling this better than i am_

* * *

Sometimes - though not often, not anymore, not in at least a couple of years - she likes to replay all their _Moments_ over in her head, back-to-back, as if it’s a cheesy TV montage.

She starts with her second week at Greendale, with _milady?milord_ and charming Winger grins, and a cardigan buttoned up to her throat. It’s a nice memory, mostly because she knows he remembers it, too, unlike a lot of the others.

Then comes _dia de los muertos_. Her surprise at the fact that _he_ had asked _her_ to dance. Not Britta, not Slater. Not Shirley, who she would’ve guessed would be his next choice. When he held her hand, just briefly, just enough, her breath hitched. He might have noticed.

And then there’s what Abed would call the _turning point_. Debate. Although, she doesn’t really think of it that way. It wasn’t the most important or the most world-changing of them all. But. He kissed her back. Seriously. He…thought about her…too?

From that, it gets more complicated. Because there were plenty of little things, stolen glances, tiny smiles, caught gazes. But even though they’re pretty insignificant, overall, she likes to count them.

And then, The Dance. Outside, in the Greendale Community College parking lot, with Duncan’s terrible rapping buzzing in the background. It was possibly the least romantic place to be kissed, _like that_ , in the world, and yet. It’s either her favourite memory or her worst, she’s really not sure which.

Model UN. _“…or, the way I feel about you.”_ His words floated around the forefront of her mind for weeks afterwards. Even though his ~~admittance~~ speech was punctuated by the terrible, awkward almost-kiss at the end, it’s still nice to think about.

Of course, playing house with him was always fun. He might like to think that she was the only one who did it, but. What was the ass crack bandit case all about? The conspiracy theory class? She’s glad he goes along with it. Or, used to.

And, as of a week ago, she now has another _Moment_ to add to her collection. Their finale in the study room. (Although it’s really more of a bittersweet memory.)

* * *

When she wakes up, some 2 hours later, with the sun filing through the shabby wooden blinds, it takes her a second to remember where she is.

Her cheek, pressed into her pillow, feels sticky and itchy and raw with dried tears.

 

 


	3. And I Bet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day of internship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> includes badly-estimated timezones

Her first day of the internship _just so happens_ to fall on her third day living in Washington. By this point, she pretty much trusts her roommate to not steal her stuff while she's away for the day, but she still takes her laptop and phone with her to work, just in case.

It’s the bus first, then the train, then a 15-minute walk. She memorised the route as soon as she found out she’d got the internship.

(Well, maybe not as soon as, there were other things to think about. One other thing to think about, at least.)

She drafts and then redrafts a quick text to the group - they have a group chat going on, newly founded by Britta, and although she hasn’t been using it too much recently, it’s nice to see what’s going on. _“First day of internship today!!!!!”_

It’s before 7am when she sends it and of course she doesn’t expect anyone to have read it, that would be ridiculous, it’s 5am over there - and so it takes her by surprise when her phone _dings_ and shows that the message has been _read._

A short moment later and the three little dots pop up. They stay for probably an entire minute, and as she watches, she tries to tamp down her expectations a little. It can’t be _him_ , it’s probably Abed or maybe even Shirley (what’s the time difference there, again?) But then they disappear.

Okay. That’s okay. It’s whatever.

She drops her phone in her pocket and triple-checks that she’s got her keys and binder and handbook and laptop and money and everything else she possibly could have any small need for in the 8 hours she’ll be spending there.

* * *

The bus ride is actually pretty pleasant. The only other people on at this time in the morning are a few elderly people, most of whom shoot her a polite smile as she makes her way through the rows of seats to the double-seater in the back.

She plugs in her earphones and stares out the window, trying to focus on the early-morning scenery whizzing past. A few more people get on at each stop, and it’s, well, nice. To watch the city waking up; seeing snippets of middle-aged suburban mothers kissing their children goodbye, and fathers dressed in shirt-and-ties collecting the morning newspapers.

Her phone suddenly chimes, abruptly interrupting the song lyrics - _and in the daylight we could_ \- signalling a message in the study group chat.

_“knock ‘em dead”_

It’s from Jeff. It’sfromJeffit’sfromJeffit’sfromJeff.

(He’s probably just replying so the notification will disappear from his phone.

But maybe??

Maybe this is a sign?)

* * *

The rest of the group’s well-wishes start to flood in around her morning coffee break. Abed and Troy urge her to attempt to infiltrate the FBI database, Shirley tells her to _“have fun!”_ , Britta sends her a nice _“good luck!”_ message, with a string of unmatched emojis. Frankie adds a polite _“this is an excellent opportunity for you”_ soon after lunch.

That day is a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song Annie was listening to is "Daylight" by Matt and Kim, which was used in the show a couple of times.


	4. You Exploded In My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phone calls in parking lots.

She makes it until her 4th day of the internship before she breaks and calls him.

It’s lunch break, and she only gets an hour, so she makes a point of grabbing her lunch (carefully packed, the night before) and speed-walking out to the parking lot, past the gaggle of smokers and irritated suits, out to the single wooden bench round the back of the building.

Hardly anyone seems to go there, except for a couple smokers occasionally, and it’s alright. The building usually provides some shade at this point in the day, and she can sit with her lunch in her lap and enjoy the small serenity before heading back to her desk.

Calling him is the one thing she resolutely promised _not_ to to; at least not this early into her stay. Other than the fact that, well, it’s kind of _embarrassing_ , as if she can’t get through one summer without Greendale, which _totally isn’t true_ , it also just seems like it’ll stir up a lot of… Feelings. And emotions. That _definitely_ do not need to be brought up, again.

But, today is different.

She wants to tell him about the guy running today’s meeting who was _exactly_ like Pierce, and she wants to ask him how the teaching gig is doing recently, and really, she just misses him.

So, before she knows it the call button has been pressed and the phone is at her ear and it’s ringing. It’s ringing.

He picks up after the third ring, and she tries to repress memories of how interested that means he is, according to Cosmopolitan _(one ring? a bit eager! 2 rings? just right! 3 rings? he’s probably bored. 4 rings? he’s not interested. 5 rings?…)_

“Hey,” he speaks first, slowly, and she notices that his breath is a little laboured. Maybe she’s interrupted his workout.

“Hi.” _It’sreallynicetohearyourvoiceagain._

“So, um… What’s up?”

It takes her a second to realise that he’s trying to politely ask her _why the Hell she’s calling him in the middle of a workday_. “Oh. Nothing. I mean, it’s lunch break right now, and I didn’t feel like cooping up inside for another hour, so…”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.” She pauses and can practically _feel_ him disengaging, and that _can’t happen_ right now; she has to do something. Quick. Before he gets so bored he hangs up. “Uh. How’s Greendale?”

“It’s okay. Things are going… Alright. Normal. Quiet - ever since you guys…” He trials off. Sore subject.

“You miss us?” She’s not really sure whether it’s a question or a statement. Maybe both.

He clears his throat. “Um. Yeah.” Like it’s obvious.

“Oh.” When he doesn’t answer, she adds. “I miss you - all - too.”

“But Washington’s good to you, right?”

“Yeah! Of course. It’s great.”

She can practically see him right now, leaning against the wall in his office (standing is healthier than sitting), the arm not holding his phone folded over his torso, grey sweatshirt (oh God the grey sweatshirt), jeans that really shouldn’t fit him _that well_ considering his age, half-smirk on his lips.

“Care to tell?”

She launches into the whole story of what’s been happing, what she’s been doing since getting here. Of course, she leaves out the parts with the panicky sadness and gross pining, because really, it’s not like he needs to know all _that_.

* * *

When she hangs up, less than a minute until her next shift starts, the call time lists as ' _37 minutes'._ It won’t be good for her phone bill, but she can worry about that later.

 

 


	5. And I Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annie comes "home" from a day at work, only to be surprised by some news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been so long since the last update. forgot to mention i'm doing NaNoWriMo this year and so i've been focusing most of my attention on my novel for that :/ sorry! 
> 
> this chapter is pretty short, but i hope you like it! (we're entering into phase 2 of my "plan" now, so...)

Her roommate is usually home when Annie makes it back from her day at work, and they’ve settled into a nice routine together by the time she’s into her second week of the internship.

“Welcome home.” Victoria’s voice drifts over from the direction of the couch, where she’s perched on the edge like a cat. “How was the FBI today? Solve any crimes?” She waits a millisecond before continuing, so that Annie has the chance to open her mouth to start to reply, when she cuts her off. “Wait - let me guess. Can’t talk about it?”

She says this exact same thing almost every day, and although he first couple of times it was a little off-putting - Annie wasn’t entirely sure whether she was being serious or not - it’s pretty funny now.

“You know it.” She replies, before making her way to the bedroom to dump her briefcase (!!!!!!) and shed her blazer.

“I ordered _Papa John_ ’s, I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah! That’s fine!” She calls back, loud enough that she’s sure her roommate can hear her.

She ties her hair back and scrubs at her face until all of her remaining makeup is off (Victoria almost never wears makeup at all, and it’s nice to be able to just not have to wear it in front of someone) and untucks her shirt, before heading back out into the living room/kitchen area.

Victoria sits on the couch, eyes trained on the TV and balancing a plate full of steaming pizza in her lap. The box is sat on the kitchen counter, and Annie drifts towards the smell.

“Hey, do you need me to pay you-“

“Nah, it’s fine, I got it.”

Annie carefully takes a slice and slides it onto the plate awaiting her. Once she’s managed to manoeuvre the first slice to fit a second on the plate, she makes her way to the couch, and flops down on the opposite side.

“What’s on?”

 _“Parks and Rec_.” Victoria replies, glancing at her for the first time since Annie arrived back after work. She has an inquisitive look on her face, like she has something important on her mind but is unsure of whether to bring it up or not. After a pause, she finally asks whatever question it is that seems to be nagging at her. “So, uh, some guy called the landline today. Just before you came home - said he was looking for you.”

Her face breaks into a grin, and it’s a little childish, but she can’t stop herself. “Oh, sorry. I thought he would call after work…”

“Would you mind if I asked who?” Victoria takes another bite of her pizza, chewing it pensively.

“He’s… Well.” How can she explain who _Jeff Winger_ is? Her old study-buddy; her friend; her ex? “We went to college together - I mean, we’re friends. We’ve been calling each other every couple of days for a while now, and it was awful for my phone bill and his, so I said he could call here.” She finishes her speech by adding a hasty, “I hope that’s okay with you!” At the end.

“Oh.” Victoria swallows her pizza, though it’s more of a gulp. Then she gets a sly look in her eyes. “He seemed pretty eager to talk to you.”

“Shut up.” She rolls her eyes, but truly, she’s much rather her roommate _kept_ _talking_. About Jeff - what did he say? How did he react? Did he really ask for her?

“Care to _actually_ explain who he was?”

Annie tips her head back onto the couch pillows, considers her roommate’s proposition for a moment, and concedes. “How much time do you have?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not sure when the next chapter will be up, but i'll try to get another one out before the end of the month. 
> 
> thanks for reading/reviewing so far.


	6. I Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Landlines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another slightly shorter chapter, i'm afraid! but hopefully this should be okay. also, shoutout to @liz_marcs for giving me the idea for this chapter. it's changed the original direction i was going to go in, and definitely for the better. :D

After waxing poetic about Jeff to her roommate for almost a half hour, it’s safe to say that Annie is pretty excited to finally call him back, on the landline this time.

It’ll be great - now they can talk for as long as they need to; no more rushed goodbyes or having to strategically leave information out of the conversation to accommodate more pressing details.

She waits for Victoria to head to bed - which takes a good amount of convincing, mind you - before dragging one of the bar stools from the kitchen area round to the hallway, right by the door. The landline phone is attached to the wall less than half a foot away, so it’s an optimal position to be able to sit and talk at the same time.

(Because she envisions this particular conversation to last quite a long time. If she believes what Victoria says, if Jeff really is so eager to speak to her… Well.)

It’s 11pm, in DC, and 9 in Colorado, but she figures that since it’s a Friday evening he shouldn’t mind too much that she’s calling this late.

Her fingers shake a little when she hovers over the redial button, but it takes a surprisingly small amount of effort to press it, and soon the ringing is sounding out into the silent apartment.

He picks up after the first ring - _wow, he sure must have been eager._

“Annie?”

“Hi.” She replies, embarrassingly breathlessly. For the first time since landing in DC, she’s glad he’s not here with her. Her cheeks are burning red.

There’s silence on his end for a moment, and then his breath hitches, like he’s about to speak - but then nothing again. Annie waits patiently for him to gather his thoughts, but privately reflects that this must be the older version of the three little _typing_ dots on iMessage.

“So, I’m guessing you figured out how to use a landline telephone?”

“Huh?” She tugs at the white cord.

“You grew up in the cell phone generation,” he remarks. “I mean, is this the first time you’ve ever had to use one, or not?”

“I’ve used a landline before, Jeff.” She scoffs. When he still doesn’t say anything, she adds, “I’m not _that_ young, you know,” and immediately wonders if it makes her sound too eager.

“Uh-huh.” She can picture him smirking.

“So, uh.” She begins after a moment, twirling the cord around her index finger. “Victoria said you called earlier.”

“Your roommate?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, yeah. Sorry about that. I guess I miscalculated the time difference, or something…”

“No, it’s okay. It takes me a while to get home from work.” Despite it being the middle of Summer, the sun is well and truly set now. The lights in the apartment are mostly off, just the sliver from Victoria’s room, and there’s a strange sort of calmness about the whole scenario.

“Home?” It sounds a little like a croak.

And, now she feels bad - great. “No, no, I meant-“

“I know. It’s okay.”

She swallows and worries if he heard it, and then she worries that she’s overthinking the call, and then she worries that she’s overthinking everything that’s happened in the period of time between _“I let you go”_ and right now.

“Hey, so, um. I guess you’ll probably be wondering why I called…”

“Yeah…”

He sighs down the line, heavy and tired and incredibly Jeff-like.

Annie waits once more. This time it’s not too long, though-

“I thought you should know… I’ve sort of started seeing someone.”

(...???????)

The air literally gets caught in her throat.

“It’s not serious or anything - we only went on our second date today - but I thought, you know, after everything that happened… You deserve to know.”

He says something else after that, but she can’t even make out that it is, because she’s holding the phone away from her head. (Just, she doesn’t want him to hear her weird, gross choking sounds.)

“Um, that’s great.” She manages to force out, after a solid minute of sputtering. Even though she really, really doesn’t want to continue this conversation anymore, she asks: “It’s not - I mean. It’s not Britta, right?”

(Because she has to know. And, because his patterns are pretty easy to see, most of the time. It’s happened more than once before: just when she thought something might actually _happen_ between them, in comes Britta, and he’s gone again.)

“No! That’s - no. Never.” She can imagine him shaking his head, barely hiding his disgust. “Just, I met this girl when I was out for a run last week, and… I don’t know.”

She knows he’s waiting for her to say something, but there’s just…. Nothing. There. In her brain. It’s not that she’s speechless, not really, because in order to be speechless you have to be shocked.

And this, well. It isn’t all that shocking.

Because, _(come on, Annie_ ) she is halfway across the country. In a different time zone. In a different apartment, different job, different state, different clothes.

And Jeff is such… He’s Jeff Winger. He gets dates, he gets _‘the girl’_ , but only when _he_ wants to. He doesn’t want to ‘get the girl’ that just so happens to be hundreds of miles away, and she can’t really blame him. That night in the study room was just as Abed had described it. An unauthorised finale: a last-ditch effort to hold onto their patterns.

He kissed her goodbye, for one last time.

He kissed her goodbye, because she asked him to.

He kissed her goodbye, and maybe that will be enough.

Because what started as an experiment-turned-hopeless-crush ended up as a soulmate-turned-star-crossed-lover, and maybe that’s all that will ever happen.

“Annie?”

“Huh?” She can’t tell how long she was spaced out for. It must have been a long time.

“Are you okay?” He starts to cut her off before she even has the chance to speak. “Sorry, this was weird, I’m realising that now… Can we talk about something else?”

“I - Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I didn’t just call you to brag about my love life, you know.” He chuckles, softly, and despite everything, Annie feels herself laughing shakily along with him. When he’s finally caught his breath (much sooner than she has, mind you) he changes the subject. “So, what’s been going on since we last called?”

“It’s classified.”

“Come on.”

“Fine,” she rolls her eyes, but it only makes them more teary. “I mean, it’s - it’s been fun. Yeah. I really like DC. I’ve said that before. Sorry.” She looks around frantically, searching for something to talk about, but suddenly everything just looks boring as hell. “I, um, I have - I mean, my roommate was very interested in you.” She’s grasping at straws and definitely knows it.

“Oh, really?” He’s all coy again. All smirks and leans and _casual, Annie, God._

“Yeah. She answered the phone when you first called and-“

“Yeah, sorry about that again…” He interrupts, sounding sheepish.

“No, it’s fine! She didn’t mind - and I don’t either. Nope.” She lets her back slide down the wall until she’s (very uncomfortably) sitting on the wooden floor, forgotten bar stool be damned. The bottom of the wall is cold against the sliver of skin exposed between her work shirt and skirt, and she wonders where, exactly, Jeff is right now. His landline is in the hallway, she knows from years of skirting around his place and deliberately avoiding eye contact with his bedroom door. She imagines him mimicking her pose, sitting against the wall with his head resting against the plaster and the phone sitting gently in his hand. “I mean, she just wanted to know who you are, is all.”

“You haven’t mentioned me already?” He fakes shock. “God, Annie, and I thought I actually _meant_ something to you, after all this time.”

_More than you’ll ever know_. She thinks, but her mouth says, “Shut up.”

“You wound me, Edison.”

“I do talk about you… And everyone at Greendale. I just don’t go into much detail - she works nights, and I work days, so we don’t even see each other for many long periods of time, anyway, and I guess it just never came up. Plus, I’ve only been here for two weeks.”

“It feels like longer.” He admits, so quiet she barely hears it.

(But she’ll later cling to that murmured phrase, when it’s dark and quiet and sleep won’t come.)

She opens her mouth to say _something_ , not even planning it out beforehand or anything, when there’s a muffled _thud_ on the line.

They speak at the same time:

“What was-“

“Oh, not now-“

“Sorry, what just happ-“

“Sorry, sorry. I think my neighbour’s at the door.” He sounds distracted. “I - Uh, I’m guessing I’ll have to cut this short, now. I’ll - I’ll call you later, ‘k?”

“Oh, um, yeah! Sure. That’s… Fine.” She stammers. “I mean, it’s getting pretty late for me, here, I should probably be going, anyway…”

“Yeah. Just, text me later? We can reschedule to a time when my crazy neighbour isn’t hammering on my door.”

“Yeah, sure. Sure. I, uh, I’ll text you. Tomorrow, if that's okay.”

“Uh, yeah, sure, sure. Bye!” His next word is less chipper. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night.” She replies, and her voice is soft, and God, she might as well have just screamed _I really miss you_ down the line.

* * *

(She shivers when she finally crawls into bed.)

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm still kind of getting back into writing fanfics after writing exclusively original for the past month or so, so forgive me if any of this reads weird or if it seems ooc or anything. it'll be back to usual soon, hopefully!


	7. The Movie Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Step One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo the formatting may look sorta weird? but ao3 seems to have updated and i can't find the paragraph break/horizontal rule button, so having to use asterisks instead. :/

She’s doing better. 

No, seriously.

For real. 

It’s been a few days (3 and 6 hours, but hey, who’s counting? Not her. Definitely not.) and she’s doing better. 

Aside from a small, classy, probably-just-hormonal crying fit yesterday, after an hour of fitful internet not-quite-stalking, she’s absolutely fine. Doing great, actually. 

And this girl… Grace Webster, as she’s found out from her aforementioned not-quite-stalking session, sounds great. 

(Well, not really - she’s older and has a kid and has been divorced twice and attended Caltech, apparently, which is just so pretentious. Also, she posts stupid healthy dinner recipes to her Facebook at least once a day, has 2 dogs, and what seems to be a rocky relationship with her ex-husband. She also plays classical violin and sings for her local church choir and-

Basically, she’s just. Wrong. For Jeff. She’s not the type of girl he usually goes for - though _girl_ doesn’t seem to cover her, not quite - and, hey, no one is _that_ well put-together. She’s probably an alcoholic. There has to be _something_ wrong with her, right????) 

So she goes to work and she comes home and she hangs out with her roommate and she goes to sleep and she goes to work and she comes home hangs out with her roommate and occasionally, yeah, she’ll scroll through his Twitter feed and swipe down his Instagram page until she can’t scroll any further and draft about 12 different texts to him, but that’s fine. 

They haven’t spoken, not properly, since that night. Just texts. She keeps it casual, of course. 

_“how’s things?”_

_“washington is great!”_

_“work is fun!”_

_“roommate and i are going out later :)”_

He usually responds something generic and pleasant, like, _“sounds great!”_ or _“i’m glad you’re enjoying it!”_ or _“have fun!”_  

And that’s fine. 

So maybe today she’s feeling a little under-the-weather, and during her lunch break at work she doesn’t particularly feel like buying a sandwich to eat at her desk, and she treks the 10-minute walk to the nearest Starbucks. 

It’s a total break from her routine, but according to her calculations (and she’s calculated it thrice, just to be sure) she can still make it back in time. 

So she orders a small latte and takes a table-for-one in the corner and is scrolling through her Twitter feed when something reaches out of the screen and physically attacks her eyeballs.

A. Picture. 

W h a t?????? 

It’s, well. It’s Jeff. Winger. And… Her. Grace Webster, and their heads are close, and he’s doing a wide eye-squinty smile, and she’s showing off her perfect teeth, and - oh God - his _arm is around her chair._

It’s a retweet, but he hasn’t edited Grace’s caption. (And, God, she hates that she’s so used to _her_ that she’s on first-name-basis already.) _“Third date with this charmer!”_

 _U G H._ What’s even happening? This isn’t like him. Everyone who knows him knows that the closest thing he’s ever had to a real _relationship_ was the gross on-again-off-again fling with Slater, back in their first year. This just - no. 

But then again… He looks _happy._ Properly happy, not in the usual resigned, bemused Greendale way, but in a way that suggests he’s just content. 

She can’t remember the last time he looked like that. (Probably some time before Troy left, before Shirley left, before Abed left, before she left. Maybe even before Pierce passed.) 

And she wants him to be happy. She does. 

(Maybe not with _Grace Webster,_ preferably, but if that’s what it takes, then…) 

So she wills her thumb to stop twitching and presses the little heart at the corner of the tweet. The little _like_ counter changes to 1.

           

  *      *      *      *      *      *

 

“You’re back late.” 

“Am I?” Annie quickly goes to check the time on her phone. 

“No, no. Sorry, I just meant you’re lat- _er_ than usual, is all.” 

“Oh.” She dumps her bag on the desk and collapses into the uncomfortably stern desk chair. 

“Yeah.” 

She looks up at her coworker. (Co-internshipper? Whatever.) He’s staring at her desk, but not her. It takes her a few seconds to put a name to his face, until she remembers her initial tour of the building with the other interns. Alex. 

“Alex, right?” She asks, hoping he won’t think her rude for forgetting his name. 

“Um, yeah.” He nods like a chicken. “And you’re Annie, right? Annie Edison?” 

“That’s me.” She wants to ask him how the hell he knows her lunch schedule, but refrains out of pure curiosity. He seems like he’s working himself up to say something, and whatever it is looks like it’s important to him.

“You always take your lunch break at the same time every day.” He observes. “And you’re usually back 10 minutes early. But today you were only back 5.” 

“Uh-huh…” 

“And I was just wondering… Well.” He scrubs a hand at the back of his head and finally meets her eyes, though he’s squinting. “You seem really nice, and I was wondering if you would like… To, uh. Go to lunch with me sometime.” 

She almost says _yes,_ but then, just on time, she realises what he actually means. It’s - He’s asking her out. As in, going out to lunch. As in, dating. As in, relationship. 

For a moment she tries to imagine what it could be like - like, maybe he would take her to a nice restaurant and tell her about his life and they’d get along like a house on fire, and maybe eventually down the road there could be marriage and kids and old age and death. 

But it’s just not natural. She barely gets past _third date_ when images of perfectly shit-eating grins and sincere blue eyes and _Jeffrey goddamn Winger_ start to infiltrate the experiment. 

“I have a boyfriend.” She blurts out, without thinking, and _nope,_ she is not going to let herself analyse this later. “Sorry,” she adds, chastely. 

His face is an odd mix of disappointment and earnest resignedness. “The guy you talk to on the phone in your car at breaks?” 

“What makes you think I talk to a guy?” She scoffs. “For all you know, I could be speaking to my - my Mom.” 

“For over a half hour?” He cocks his head to the side. 

She rolls her eyes. “Fine. You got me.” 

Satisfied despite his rejection, he gives her a curt nod before heading back to his cubicle, on the other side of the room. 

God. He reminds her of Abed. 

 

*      *      *      *      *      *

 

**(3) unsent drafts**

 

**(1)**

**composed 17:34**

**TO: Jeff**

**did you have a good time today?**

 

**(2)**

**composed 18:03**

**TO: Jeff**

**maybe when i get back to washington you could introduce me and grace. she seems super nice!**

 

**(3)**

**composed 23:56**

**TO: Jeff**

**you seem really happy with her**  
****

*      *      *      *      *      *

 

_text sent 06:21_

_TO: Jeff_

_Grace seems so cool! You’re lucky you’re dating her ;)_

 

*      *      *      *      *      *

 

 

_"Step One of recovery is admitting you have a problem."_

 

Yeah. She may have a slight problem.

 

 

 


	8. When You Gonna Realise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conversation with Britta brings something to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another shorter one, unfortunately! but i'm hoping to have another one out pretty soon!

Britta’s face swims incoherently on the screen for almost an entire minute before the connection finalises and she comes into focus. 

“Can you see me?” 

“Yes.” 

“Can you hear me?” 

Annie just shoots her a look. 

“Oh, right, yeah. Sorry. Still kind of hungover.” 

“Yeah.” 

Video-chatting is awkward, especially with Britta, and Annie really would have preferred to just call or text, but apparently her friend had gotten it into her head that it was absolutely pivotal that they see each other in their first non-textual conversation since her departure to DC, so here she is. 

Sitting on a barstool at the kitchen counter, phone propped up with a coffee mug in front of her. 

“So, what’s up?” 

“I don’t know.” She replies instinctively. “Just the internship… It takes up a lot of my time. How’s everything back home?” 

“Annie,” Britta sends her a raised-eyebrow sort of look. “Come on. I want to know how you’re doing.” 

“Why?” She narrows her eyes. “Is Shirley putting you up to this? She won’t stop sending me passive-aggressively concerned texts. If-“

“No!” Britta indignantly cuts her off, wearing her Judgey Face, but kind of slumps a little afterwards. “Look, it’s just not the same back here. And ever since you left… I don’t know. I just keep thinking about all the Annie-things I missed out on when you were here, you know? And we haven’t properly spoken since you left, and I felt bad.” 

“Oh.” 

“Plus, there’s only so many topics I can speak about with Frankie.” She adds. “And most of them involve real estate, past interpersonal dynamics of the old group, and future Nippledippers-slash-Sustain-Greendale-Committee projects.” 

“I suppose she can be a little… Closed-off.” 

“Yeah, understatement of the century.” She punctuates this with a roll of her eyes. “Anyway, since we got that out of the way… Seriously. How are things in DC? Answer _honestly,_ this time.” 

“It’s good. My roommate’s pretty cool, even though we’re not in the apartment at the same time that much.” She wonders if this may be enough, but Britta’s encouraging nod forces her to keep talking. “The internship is really, really fun. I’m definitely learning a lot - I can’t really talk about a lot of the stuff that goes on, though, ‘cause a lot of it’s classified. And it’s been fun exploring the city a little, whenever I have time on the weekends. I don’t get to do much of that, though, ‘cause work keeps me busy.” 

“Have you spoken much to the others? I mean, I’ve been keeping up with the group chat but nothing much has been going on the past few days.” 

“Um.” Her hand freezes where she had been absentmindedly picking at a thread on her skirt. How can she answer that question? “I guess… A little. Everyone’s so busy over this summer, y’know?” 

“Have you spoken to Jeff much?” (She doesn’t see the way Annie’s head snaps up at that.) “Or has he been ignoring you, too?” 

“He’s been ignoring you?” She asks, instead of replying to Britta’s question. 

Britta shifts, the top of her face climbing out of frame for a second before she pops back into view again. “Well, I guess it’s not entirely fair to say _ignoring,_ but he’s with some new girl at the moment, so he hasn’t been coming by the bar as often.” 

She swallows hard, feigns innocence. “Oh.” 

“Yeah.” She fake grimaces. “I mean, she sounds cool and everything, though. Just, he hasn’t introduced her to any of us yet.” 

“Oh.” 

“I’m just glad he seems to be, well, growing up. Less sad-older-guy-trying-to-fit-in-with-the-youth, more older-guy-finally-accepting-his-age.”

“Oh.”

“Are you okay?” 

“Huh?” She shakes her head, hoping to rid herself of the overanalysing thoughts surrounding what her friend has just told her. “Um. Yeah, just a little tired.” 

Britta makes a sort of _sure you are_ face, all raised eyebrows and reproachful mouth, but drops the subject, instead beginning a 10-minute rant about the cost of vet bills for her latest rescue cat. 

* * *

 

( _“He seems to be, well, growing up.”_

For a brief, fleeting moment, she gains a sliver of hope. Before it dissipates, she makes a decision.) 

 

* * *

_text_

_sent 18:44_

_TO: Jeff_

_we need to talk. call me tomorrow?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was weirdly hard to write for some reason, but i hope it's not too bad


	9. It Was Just That The Time Was Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phone call, pt 1.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for being kinda inactive lately - prelims started in school, so for the rest of the month i'll pretty much only be studying. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> soooo i probably won't be able to get part two of this out until early february 
> 
> but i hope you like this!! (even though its super short (SORRYSORRY) )

It doesn’t even take a night of sleep before she starts to regret sending the text. 

In fact, she considers telling him it was just a prank or some similar thinly-veiled excuse, just so she won’t have to do anything about… This. 

It doesn’t help that it’s been a few hours and he still hasn’t replied, and though she mentally calculates the time difference from Colorado to DC every 15 minutes or so it still doesn’t make sense that he hasn’t at least _seen_ the message. 

When she’s feeling calmer and more confident, a glass of wine or two later, she can _sort of_ justify her impulse decision. Rationally, she knows that they probably should talk - it’s been almost a month since their Unauthorised Finale™, and yet neither have spoken about the events that transpired, and really, what happened isn’t exactly the type of thing that should be swept under the rug. 

And beyond that, the conversation with Britta had been enlightening in a way she definitely wasn’t expecting. There’s still a small part of her that clings to the hope given by her friend’s words. 

(Because what if this mess - the textual awkwardness, hesitant phone calls, and radio silence - is just an attempt to seem grown-up? To make it look as though he’s cooping fine back home, that he’s been totally freed by their (admittedly kind of toxic) codependence? 

She doesn’t let herself dwell on the other implications of it, though. Particularly the ones regarding his new girlfriend.)

And, well, they’ve been putting this off for God-knows how long. It makes sense that it would have to happen at _some_ point, that they couldn’t just ignore this forever. 

* * *

With the help of more wine, she is able to sleep quite peacefully that night, but when she awakes it is to her phone lighting up with a missed text. 

She is hit immediately with an instinct guttural panic and for a second can’t really comprehend why… Until, just a moment later, the memories from yesterday come flooding back and all she can think is, _ohGodohGodohGodwhathaveIdone_

But, she reminds herself, she’s a freaking _FBI agent_ and she’s handled situations much worse than whatever could possibly be coming, so instead of panicking, she puts on a brave face and reaches towards her night stand. 

She’s gotten used to his emotionless, cryptic texts over the past few days, so it doesn’t really surprise her when he only replies with 4 words. 

_“is 7pm dc ok?”_

* * *

(Since it’s a Saturday, her only real plans are to go out for a while, see the sights and perhaps get a better feel of the city. By the time she’s out the door, there’s only a few hours until she’ll be due back home for the phone call, but she figures it’s enough time to get some things done. 

On the bus, she leans her head against the vibrating glass of the window and wills the drumming to overpower her insistent worries.) 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I MADE A PLAYLIST FOR THE FIC BTWW
> 
> https://8tracks.com/ratherbefree/but-i-let-you-go
> 
> soo check it out if u want!!


	10. Juliet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this  
> is  
> it
> 
> i was originally gonna make this story/plot/whatever a whole lot longer, but i like to think this ending is more fitting.

She’s crouching in the grass to take an artsy photo of some daisies and none of them are coming out right. The focus isn’t good, the light isn’t hitting the lens in the best way, her hand is getting cramped holding the phone at that angle, and all she can think about is stupid Jeff Winger and _damn it,_ he’s messing everything up. 

Because when she went to DC it was supposed to be her first preview into what her life could be. It was the first breath of true independence she had had in quite a while, since she moved into the tiny apartment above Dildopolis and pooled the rest of her savings to buy the beat-up car she used to love. Sure, living with her friends was great, and the group was great, and Greendale was… Well, it wasn’t _great,_ not exactly, but it was _okay._ Interning at the FBI was an Important Thing in her life and it was nice to be doing something without the group, for once, and now _he_ was ruining it, the stupid… Ruiner. 

Anyway. 

Checking the latest photo she’s snapped of the flower patch, she shakes her head. It’s still bad, still not quite enough, but it’ll do. She stumbles back up, massaging the aching backs of her knees and swiping at the dirt on her skirt. (Yes, she’s started wearing sundresses again, occasionally, because it’s warm in DC, sometimes, and no, she absolutely doesn’t care that a _certain someone_ alluded to liking them, thank you very much.) 

It’s been a long day (not quite) and she feels like heading home, even though she doesn’t really _need_ to be back for another few hours, but the quiet idleness of the nature park she made her way into is kind of suffocating, and she would much rather be at home, or on the busy train, or literally anywhere else right now. 

So she drops her phone into her purse and does just that, because she is New Annie Edison and she doesn’t have to think twice about her decisions anymore. 

Except the loneliness of the train ride home just gives her even more time to think about everything that has happened and everything that is about to happen, and she knows that tonight they are going to have a Serious Talk and maybe she’ll gain the confidence to tell him exactly what she thinks of him, once and for all. 

(Because when she asked him to kiss her goodbye, she thought maybe that she was over it. It was wrong and stupid, but in her mind she felt like she was doing him a sort of favour, like he was more invested in it all than she was, but this time spent away from him has just sort of served to prove that the dumb feelings she has for him are probably never gonna go away. Some part of her still feels like the 19-year-old-with-a-crush.) 

And then the walk home only serves as more food for nostalgia, for melancholic _what-ifs_ and _just-maybes._

(Like, _what-if_ this is it, _what-if_ he really does love his new - girlfriend - and everything that once was between them is just… Gone? _What-if_ he did once care about her - not that he _loved_ her, not that she could ever hope or expect him to - but she just wasn’t aware and he just wasn’t brave and now, now he’s properly moved on - not in the way she tried to, but _really_ , _actually_ moved on - and now he’s happier with someone else? _What-if_ they truly did care about each other, as she thinks they might’ve, but it was just never at the same time, never when the timing was right - they just kept circling each other for years until he eventually gave up? 

And yet, _just-maybe,_ he really does like her after all. _Just-maybe,_ the kiss back in the Study Room, at the end and beginning of everything, truly _meant something_ to him - maybe not as much as it means to her, but still _something._ Or, _just-maybe,_ he’ll tell her that it was always her, it was her all along, and everything else, the fling with Britta and flirting with other women at school and the relationship he’s found his way into, was just… 

Well, just what? No one does those things for nothing, not even someone like Jeff Winger, he must have a reason, there must be—) 

And the like. 

She’s midway through a half-hearted fantasy about a dramatic profession of love over the landline when she realises she’s already reached her street, and is currently walking past the door to her building. 

She quickly backtracks, hoping nobody saw her, fumbles with the code, and shuffles her feet into the cramped little hallway, shooting a glare at the door of the guy who _always_ parks his bike next to the door (seriously, it’s driving her insane, she’s tripped over it one too many times already and she’s actually considering filing a complaint to the landlord) before heading up the gloomy spiral staircase, counting the floors until she can see her door. 

 Her key clicks in the stern lock until finally, she’s pushing the heavy door open and setting her purse down on the kitchen counter and wondering if she’ll have enough time to order Chinese. 

She changes into pyjamas and in the end, the allure of Chinese is too much to resist (when is it not?) and that’s where 7pm finds her: curled in the armchair, a half-eaten carton of garlic noodles balanced atop 2 other cartons, sitting precariously at the edge of the coffee table.

The time crept up on her, she realises - and she leaps to her feet, ignoring the way her eyes momentarily go fuzzy (there is no time for sitting up _slowly,_ damnit!) 

Then she remembers the fact that Jeff isn't exactly known for his punctuality, and this thought relaxes her enough that she can justify using the time between now and the call to tidy up the area a little. 

She scoops the empty cartons into her arms and tips them into the garbage, placing the half-empty one neatly into the fridge, and sits primly in the nearest bar stool, just like a relaxed person would. 

Because she _is_ a relaxed person. 

Loosey-goosey. 

Chill.

Except ‘relaxing’ gets boring after about 30 seconds, so she fusses with her hair for a minute or so, scraping it back into a tight ponytail before changing her mind and raking her fingers through it to get rid of the bump. She’s considering running to her bedroom to grab a headband or something when the phone trills, loud and piercing in the vacant apartment.

She freezes. Uh-oh.

The trilling stops. And starts again. 

It’s now or never. 

(Why again can’t it just be never—-?) 

(Shut up.) 

“Annie?” He asks as soon as she picks up the phone. No _hello_ or _how are you today_ or _whats up?_ He is just. Right down to business.

“…” She tries.

“Are you-“

“I’m here.” 

“Do you want to-“

“You first.” She licks her lips. “I think I need a minute.”

“Okay.” He sighs down the line, and it crackles next to her ear. “I’ve gotta say, you freaked me out a little with the whole _we need to talk_ thing. Y’know, usually that doesn’t mean anything good.” 

“Yeah.” She breathes in, but it’s too ragged, so she tries again. And again. And it gets better. “Jeff…” 

“Yeah?” 

“I don’t know what to ask.” She admits, slumping over in the stool she preemptively placed in the hall before her food arrived. 

“Just - say whatever you want. I have time.” 

“Yeah.” 

There’s a long silence. 

Really, there’s so much she wants to ask him. But she doesn’t want him to ask questions, doesn’t want to have to explain to him why exactly his answers mean so much to her. 

Maybe it’s best to start at the beginning. 

“End of first year.” She states, because she can’t make herself say _when we kissed_ or _after the dance_ because those terms just aren’t adequate to explain what happened. “Did you really - Was it - Not…” 

“Not?” 

“Didn’t it affect you at all?” She blurts out, fisting her spare hand in the fabric of her shirt. 

“It did.” He speaks slowly, like he’s choosing his words. “But, honestly, I think… I think less than you.” 

“Okay.” 

“You understand, though, why… ‘Cause we couldn’t have. Not then.” 

“I know.” And she does, even though she might not always have. 

“I was a jerk about it, though.” 

“You were.” She huffs out a laugh, feeling a little breathless even though she’s barely moved since picking up the phone. “A huge jerk.” 

“I wouldn’t say that…” 

“Uh huh?” 

“Well. I guess.” 

“Yep.” At least now, with the teasing, she can feel more at ease. “Um.”

“What is it?” 

“I also wanted to know… Why it took me leaving for the Summer for you to actually, y’know. Talk to me.” 

“Oh.” 

“I just.” 

“I don’t know. I’m like that - I didn’t think you’d be leaving so soon. I thought - I would’ve said something eventually. I think.” 

“But we’ve known each other for six years-“ 

“I know.” He sighs, muffled as if he’s running a hand over his face, and Annie tamps down any sympathy she has for him. This is important. 

“And, um.” She gulps, and refuses to worry if he heard it over the phone. “Why - I mean, who - ugh.” 

“Everything okay?” 

“Uh-huh. Just peachy.” She bites back. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay.”

“What’s been going on with you?” 

“What do you mean?” He sounds slightly wounded by her blurted-out question. 

“First you’re all, _the heart wants what it wants,_ then as soon as I leave we’re back to, what? Completely platonic friends? And then you say you’ve got a - a _girlfriend,_ or whatever - and you expect me to be just fine with that?” 

“Annie-“ 

“I don’t _get_ you, Jeff.” The words come out in a whisper, and she lets her head bump back against the wall, beat. 

“Why now?” He asks, cautiously, as if he’s afraid. (Good, she thinks. It’s nice that _he’s_ the one walking on eggshells, for once.) “I mean, why are you calling now? If it’s been bothering you for so long?” 

She sighs. Maybe if she were in the right mind, she wouldn’t talk to him as candidly as this, but right now she’s drunk on indignation and honestly, she deserves answers. Jeff Winger is a massive jerk. 

“I spoke to Britta yesterday. We were talking about you, and she said - well, she she said something that made me think.” 

“And?” 

“Is this whole thing, the radio silence and generic texts and emphasis on all-things-platonic, just some weird way of… Of distancing yourself? From me?” 

“Annie.” He sighs. “I’m leaving you to get on with your life. Frankie’s right, we were way too codependent, and it’s probably a good thing you and Abed and Troy left to pursue the world, and experience something other than Greendale. This was me, letting you go.” 

“But what if I don’t want you to?” Her eyes burn, and she swipes at them as a precaution. _(Come on, pull it together.)_ “We didn’t… In the Study Room. There was no time, and I want, I want…” She breaks off gasping, not even caring whether he can hear or not. Not anymore, not when setting things like this straight is the only thing that’s on her mind. 

“Don’t-“ 

“No, no. We need to talk.” She’s shaking her head, even though she knows he can’t see her. “What did you mean when you said… that?” 

“What did I mean?” 

“You said you _let me go_. What were you trying to say?” 

“That I was gonna… Leave you alone. Let you get on with your life, stop holding you to Greendale like an anchor. I needed to - sever the ties.” He waits a beat. “Sorry. That sounded worse than it did in my head.” 

“It’s okay.” She responds automatically, and has to remind herself of the task at hand. “You didn’t _anchor_ me to Greendale.” 

“Maybe. But I felt like I did.”

She hums in the back of her throat. “Okay. Well, I thought you meant something different. And that was confusing.” 

“What did you think I meant?”

Is this really happening? 

“I thought - I don’t know. It might sound kind of weird, now, but. I thought maybe you…” She mouths the words _loved, liked, cared for -_ they all feel wrong. Too soon. Or maybe too late. “…Had feelings for me.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a long time.

“You’re not wrong.” He finally admits, slowly. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Um-“ She doesn’t know what to think. How could he just—? Not even telling her when she was leaving _halfway across the country?_ Did he just assume she would understand? Stupid Jeff stupid stupid stupid stupid-

“Since when?” Her voice is all high and pitchy. Not good. 

“I don’t remember.” 

“Jeff.” 

“I don’t.” He pauses. “I mean-“

“This is meant to be honest.” She reminds him. “And withholding information isn’t honesty, Jeff.” 

“I know that, I do. But I really can’t think of an exact time it _started._ I - The first time I became _aware_ of it, though…” 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you remember Borchert’s Lab? End of fifth year?” 

“Please don’t pit Britta against me.” 

“No, no, I’m not - That’s not what I’m trying to do. Just. Listen, please? Please.” 

“I’m listening.” 

“You know how, with the computer -  I mean.” He starts again. “It needed _a blast of human passion.”_

She remembers gagging and rolling her eyes at Jeff and Britta, she remembers panicking at the thought of having to survive for an extended period of time, down there, with them. The two of them. Together. 

Gross.

“Yeah, sure.” 

He seems put off by her flippancy. Good.

“I made you all turn around, ‘cause I thought it’d be weird, y’know?”

“Uh-huh.” 

“I- Sorry, this is weird. Sorry, sorry. Trying again.” He clears his throat. 

Her fingers curl around the spare fabric of her pyjama bottoms, pulling until the material is cinched around her thigh. 

“Um. So. I stared at each of you, and I thought…about each of you… And nothing happened. Until I saw you.” 

…

…?

…??????????

“Oh.”

“Yeah, uh.” He laughs, but it sounds like someone is holding a gun to his head. 

“You…?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“From thinking about…?” 

“Yep.” 

“Huh.” Her hand stills. 

There’s a long pause and she tries to think, but all she can hear in her own head is his words. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I didn’t think you’d want - I mean, I didn’t think you’d feel the same way.” 

“Right.” She chews her bottom lip, stopping in surprise only when it hurts. 

“I…”

“What?”

“Never mind.” 

“No, tell me.” 

He sighs. It sounds raggedy over the weak line. “I stopped seeing Grace today.” He chooses his words carefully, like he’s afraid of how she’s going to react. 

“What?” 

“Yeah.” 

“ _Stopped seeing_ her?” Her hand gravitates back to the material hanging off her leg. “You mean, you broke up with her.” 

“I guess.” 

“Because _you were dating._ Don’t pretend it wasn’t - anything.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

She waits before talking again, staring at the wall for what might be a full minute. She feels the same as she did a decade ago, when she sat at her expensive mahogany desk in her empty home and reread pages of textbooks until she was so tired the words melted together. 

It’s different now, of course. 

“Did you do that because you're still- Uh.” _Still what?????_ “Did you do that because… Because, I’m still your blast of human passion?” 

He’s silent for a long time. 

_Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no ohnohohnoohnoohnoohono_

“Well, partly.” He finally replies. “And partly because I thought - _that_ \- was why you were calling.” 

“Huh?” 

“I don’t know. I thought, maybe, you were calling because you wanted to… I guess, tell me. What you felt.” A beat passes. “Sorry, I’m being weird.” 

“No, it’s okay.” It really is. Better. “I was kind of thinking that, too. It just.. Came out wrong.” 

“I’ll say.” A pause. “Sooo… How do you feel?”

“About you?” Her throat gets tight, she swallows but it’s more like a gulp. 

“Doy.” 

It doesn’t lighten the mood. 

“I don’t want to scare you away.” She breathes out, so quiet she can’t tell if he picked it up or not.

But he does. “You won’t. I’m sorry. You won’t.” 

“O-kay, then. Um. It’s hard to explain. I, I, I always presumed,” _is that the correct use of presumed or should it be assumed i’m too tired forthis i should have waited i should have_ “that maybe, you and I, we’d be. Together. In the end.” 

“The end?”

“Sorry. Wrong wording. I meant, eventually.” 

“Is this, now, _eventually?”_  

“I suppose so.” 

“And we’re not together.” 

“No.” 

“Would you still like to be?”

 Her breath catches. _Go with the flow._ “Yes.” _Can’tgowiththeflowcan’tbeloosey-gooseyuhoh._ “But, you don’t, do you? And anyway, you’re there and I’m here, and you just broke up with your girlfriend and you clearly want to be left alone and you might just keep thinking you’re holding me back or whatever and-“ 

"I want that, too.” 

“I thought you wanted to _be able to fall asleep on a beach and not regret it the next day_.” 

“That’s not as important.” 

Um.

“Anyway,” he continues. “I thought you wanted to be able to _have so much behind you that you’re no longer a slave to what’s in front of you?”_

She feels the beginnings of a smile form on her face. “Impressive memory.” 

“I learn from the best.” 

“I think… We can have what we want and still want each other. I don’t think the two things should be mutually exclusive.” 

“I want you more than sleeping on the beach.” 

“You… Should come here.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” She licks her lips; they still taste vaguely of bubblegum. “I want to see you when we talk.” 

“Soon.” 

“Soon.” She agrees. “But don’t think we’re not having a serious talk about spontaneously dumping your girlfriend. That wasn’t cool, Jeff.” 

“Okay, okay.” 

“And we are going to talk about this.” She warns. “Before anything else happens.” 

“Got it.” 

She doesn’t bother fighting the grin stretching across her face. “Get on over here, quick, then. Hurry.” 

“I will, don’t worry.” He’s smiling too. She can hear it. “And, Annie? It’s getting late in DC. Go to sleep.” 

“Fine, then. I’ll just hang up on you.” 

“One more thing, though.” He adds, quickly. “Before you go.” 

She wonders if maybe he’ll say the words she’s been daydreaming of hearing from him since second year. 

“I miss you.” 

It’s progress. 

“See you soon, Jeff.” 

* * *

And she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who's read, left kudos and commented - it means a lot!

**Author's Note:**

> I managed to marathon the entirety of Community in 5 days and it's been a week and I'm still not over the finale. So here this is.


End file.
